Good-bye to a century ... and my father

1999 was the year to say 'good-bye' to not only a century, but a millennium. All the hype, angst, and fear of the unknown was promptly put into its place, for me, in October of that year. My son Michael, a violin student, was involved in a local youth orchestra. My parents, who lived on the other side of the state, enjoyed seeing their grandson perform that fall. Coming in for an October weekend visit was a greatly anticipated family celebration.

My parents arrived on a Thursday; the concert was held on Saturday evening and they prepared to go home Sunday, after we all attended church together. That brisk, fall afternoon found us gathering in the driveway, the autumn sun beginning its descent, as they prepared to leave. However, outside in the fall sun and crips air, we said our farewells, I noticed my father's color looked a little 'off.' Although he had never complained, he definitely looked yellow! I made a mental note of this, and not wanting to alarm my mother, simply kissed my parents, and said, "Good bye."

As soon as they left I asked my husband, a physician, if he had

noticed dad's faint waxy yellow color. He admitted he did and that he felt my father should make an appointment as soon as possible with his own physician. It was possible he either had hepatitis from shellfish or something more dire... As this was the days before cell phones, we anxiously waited the six hours for them to arrive home before calling them to break the news of our observations, with a suggestion to see a physician in Pittsburgh. It's odd, but if you see someone every day, you are less likely to notice subtle changes in their appearance, which is why neither my mom nor sister viewed Dad any differently. My husband made the difficult phone call, and my dad promised to follow through the next day. We said good-bye again and waited.

Dad got an appointment for early November, and the results were not good. Apparently the treatment for my father's lymphoma had triggered acute mylogenous leukemia! He made an appointment with a specialist and they proceeded to map out an aggressive treatment plan. My husband concurred that under the circumstances we should all travel to Pittsburgh for Thanksgiving. With school-age children, travel can be hard, but it was important that we all be together to support my parents through this time of uncertainty.

My sister hosted a lovely, traditional Thanksgiving dinner at her home in Pittsburgh and we had a wonderful time! However, there was additional trauma, because when it came time to leave, my sister, trying to multi-task, tossed wet bath towels into her dryer, turned it on, and several minutes later came back to see what the thumping noise was. It was her daughter's cat; time to say, "Good-bye" to the cat that died in her arms.

Within weeks dad began to show signs of shortness of breath and was put on portable oxygen. We all remained hopeful that the chemotherapy treatment he would begin in December would cure him. The elder daughter, I dutifully came back mid-December to help get him settled in a Pittsburgh hospital for treatment, and after staying a few days, it was time to say, "Good-bye" and get back home to prepare for Christmas.

However, a few days before Christmas I got a call that dad had was not doing well and that I should come home. The children and I grabbed a variety of clothing, shoes, and coats. Last minute, I grabbed their Christmas stockings and some bags of stocking stuffers just in case, and the four of us rushed to Pittsburgh where dad was in the hospital. He seemed to do so much better with his family nearby, although he was still on oxygen and very week.

Christmas Day my children awoke to no gifts from Santa, but were happy to find stuffed stockings hanging on their Aunt's fireplace mantle! Mom and I spent the day in the hospital with dad, figuring we'd grab a bite to eat in the hospital cafeteria, only to learn there was no cafeteria service on Christmas Day, and no restaurants open anywhere within a 15-mile radius of the hospital! I finally found an open Squirrel Hill Chinese restaurant. Mom, who hates Chinese, settled for a box of plain, white rice.

The day after Christmas we all went back to see dad, who was now in the ICU. Apparently the chemotherapy treatment was too aggressive for him, and it was obvious his system was shutting down. We stayed as long as we dared that night as roads were getting icy. We said, "Good-bye" and headed back to mom's home some thirty miles away, to hope for the best. There was angel on my shoulder that night as we slid on Coxcomb Hill at one point, but got home safely.

December 27th I was awoken early with the phone call we were all dreading. Dad had taken a turn for the worse. Again, we all rushed back to the hospital and gathered round his bed. He had been moved to a private room as there was nothing further they could do for him in ICU. The day droned on and you could see his breathing becoming more and more labored. He was not in pain, but it was apparent he needed to be 'set free'.  I leaned over and told him I loved him, and it was okay to let go. It was the hardest thing I ever did or said, but I felt he needed to hear it, because it was apparent he was never going to get better. Within an hour he breathed his last we each said, one by one,

with tears in our eyes, our final, "Good-bye."

It is hard enough to plan a funeral around a Holiday, but the

millennium? We were so fortunate that the country club where my parents golfed, while basically closed for the season, was amenable to having a funeral luncheon after church services that Thursday, December 30, giving us three days to contact all of our loved ones and make necessary arrangements. My sister vacillated from extreme sadness to downright laughable expressions, once asking me in all serious, "When is the will read?" All mom could do was walk around, dazed, while polishing her black Hitchcock kitchen table as if her life depended on it. My husband was in Clarks Summit working until the day of the funeral and I have no recollection who took care of my children while I made the necessary arrangements.

Over 100 people made the trip from all over Pennsylvania, New York, and even Florida to New Kensington for the funeral and services. The outpouring of love, sympathy, and respect for my father was amazing. One distant cousin spent the afternoon capturing images on his camera of the families who came to pay their respects; while that may seem morbid, it is a comfort today to see them. It was a blur but we all held up very well. Again, more good-byes to those loved ones and a final good-bye to dad at the cemetery... but not the gravesite. Weather didn't permit that final journey together.

By New Year's Eve everyone but us had gone their separate ways, most likely to celebrate the greatest New Year's Eve in recent memory. By Friday morning, television reports from Sydney, Australia showed there were no major glitches with electronics or terrorist activity. The time zones ticked off, one-by-one, with no disruptions, making their way across the planet with undue harm. By noon it was apparent it was time to head home safely, where my carefully stored bottled water, macaroni, and beef jerky seemed insignificant and unnecessary.

Mom, still in a daze, could not be convinced to come back to Clarks Summit with us. We had to leave as the children needed to back to school. Mom preferred to stay in her cocoon, in the home where we were raised, where she felt dad's presence most strongly. It was time to say, "Good-bye" to her.

With two cars, Ken, who had been away from the kids for the better part of a week, piled the three children in his car, and I followed behind in my own. I drove the entire way home with my dad's WWII hat on my head, tears streaming down my face. It was the start of a new millennium, and the realization that I'd have to face it without my dad's love, affection, and advice, was devastating.

However, because of my faith, I know those good-byes were not final. I know I will indeed be reunited with him one day. Instead of "Good-bye" with our faith and hope of life everlasting with the Lord, it is more "I love you Dad! See you later!"